


Bring on the Thunder

by BlackDog9314



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Short One Shot, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:18:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4933855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackDog9314/pseuds/BlackDog9314
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel loves Dean's eyes, and always has.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring on the Thunder

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this months ago, and figured I'd post it to help get myself through the nightmare that this current chater of Rhapsodic is shaping up to be. More of everything will be posted as soon as I can manage it, but 'til then, here, have some fluff =)

If there was one thing about Dean that Castiel wished he could write a poem about, or a song, or something else much more coordinated and romantic than his abilities allowed, that thing would have been his eyes.

They were vivid green with gold circling the black within, like grass and sunlight or copper and the emerald lake waters one sees in postcards and professional nature photographs.

They crinkled at the corners and were adorned with amber freckles; a few even dotted the edges of his lids where the skin faded into thick, dark lashes.

The moss that hung from the tall trees beyond the house they'd met in front of didn't hold a candle to those eyes, nor did the neon green of the nearby billboard which greeted Castiel each morning through his bedroom window.

Castiel had been dreaming of Dean's eyes for years, since they literally collided in front of the Winchester house one summer day as children. Castiel had scraped one of his knees, badly, vermilion running from between his fingers as he silently tried not to cry, knowing he wouldn't be doing himself any favors by being both the new kid in the neighborhood _and_ a crybaby.

But Dean had felt remorseful, responsible, hopping down off of his bike immediately and rushing to Castiel's side, using the edge of his black t-shirt to stem the flow from Cas's knee.

His eyes had been illuminated by the midday sunlight, minute pigment imperfections highlighted and made beautiful: specks of brown, lighter areas of almost sea-foam green, hazel melding into dark blue melding into tropical oceans and dark forests.

After that they had almost never been apart, and at this very moment Castiel was watching Dean from across the room as he bent over a book, those eyes scrunched up in concentration as he read.

Dean had dyslexia, and loved to read. A problem, some would have said, but not Castiel's boyfriend.

He slowly but steadily read whenever he had free time, making his careful, measured way through fantasy, science fiction, autobiographies, erotica and even technical manuals and wine-tasting books. It didn't matter that he didn't like wine or have computers to build, he read whatever he could get his hands on.

The random trivial knowledge he gained from his many, varied readings provided a lot of amusement, additionally.

Castiel remembered one instance, when they'd been walking home in the rain together, neither of them having thought to check the forecast before taking an ill-advised stroll through the woods behind the neighborhood. They'd been fortunate enough to have sex in the shadowed clearing _before_ the rain began, but were still a good thirty minutes from their houses when the downpour began.

They'd both been sulky and soaked-through to the skin, slightly annoyed with each other and moreover, at the weather itself. Castiel had his hands shoved into his pockets, his fingers already pruning, and Dean was laughing at him.

“You look like a pissed-off cat,” he'd whispered into Castiel's ear.

“Grrr,” Castiel had said sullenly, narrowing his eyes.

“Y'know, some people theorize that storms that grow in intensity this quickly have similarities to past floods, even the one the Bible wrote about...” Dean had launched into a lengthy diatribe about historical rainstorms that lasted until they made it back, having read a book on the subject a year or so back.

“Dean, hush,” Castiel had said, a smile on his lips, “I don't want to hear anything else about Noah's supposed Ark, I promise.”

Dean had grinned at him, “Alright, alright. Let's go sleep for a while.”

“Can we be naked?”

“Was there any question there, really?”

That had been three years ago, now.

Castiel and Dean lived together not far from where they'd grown up, and they had plans to eat dinner with Dean's father and mother that evening.

Castiel walked over to where Dean sat, his blonde eyebrows slightly furrowed as he pored over the book on botany opened before him.

Those eyes.

“Babe?” Castiel said, gently cupping Dean's chin and bringing his face up.

“Hm?” Dean asked, curious.

_Your eyes are like being underwater in the Guadalupe—I dream about you all the time and always, always, your eyes are the only thing in color—if we ever got married I'd make you wear green—my eyes are a dime a dozen but yours are anything but—Thank you for stopping for me all those years ago—_

“I love you,” Castiel said finally, knowing that his thoughts on the subject would have to suffice for the time-being.

 

 


End file.
